


GENDRY AT THE FORGE

by BellaGracie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:43:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaGracie/pseuds/BellaGracie
Summary: I'm going to do a bunch of these one-shots. All focused on Arya and Gendry.I'm better at one-shots than longer multi-chapter, I think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A different kind of reunion.

Arya was watching Gendry work. He didn't know she was there. He hadn't seen her for a year, maybe. She knew where he was, she'd slip in and out, on her way to crossing another name off her list. Every time she crossed off a name, she would go back to the Inn at the Crossroads (because that was where he had been settled, for quite a while now) and check on him.

For several days now, he'd been hard at work on something. So focused, he barely stopped to eat. Arya would watch from the shadows: with powerful blows he shaped and smoothed the thing, setting off sparks. The heat in the forge was something awful, so Gendry had stripped down to his smallclothes. The door to the forge was shut, and it was late at night, so he didn't have to worry about anyone watching. Except for Arya, of course. He didn't know she was there. But she was so quiet, she was so well-trained by The Stranger, she could have been standing a foot from him and he would never know.

He struck the object again and again, and finally Arya could see what it was. It almost made her heart stop. The surface of the object glowed red, yellow, and then white, casting lurid shadows over Gendry's face. And then, suddenly, one last mighty blow and Gendry was lifting the thing, high into the air, with his left arm.

Arya was thinking that she had never seen anything so glorious. Every single nerve in her body seemed alight. She had known, of course, that Gendry was a good smith. All those years with Tobho Mott -- of course, he learned from the best. When they were together on the King's Road, she never stopped to think that he would miss it -- the smithing, the making of things. But of course he had.

It was an enormous hammer. It was so large, and so hefty, and almost as long as Arya herself, that she couldn't imagine where Gendry found the strength to lift it. With one hand, at that. Arya could sense Gendry's elation.

Suddenly, he lowered the hammer, but only enough so that his two hands could clasp the shaft. He held it in front of him, testing its balance. And then, he looked up. He looked straight at her. Of course he didn't see her. But, weeks afterward, Arya wondered -- why did he direct his gaze to that precise spot? Why?

Suddenly, the elation on Gendry's face was replaced by exhaustion. He gazed at the thing in his hands, and Arya thought she could sense the complexity of his emotions. Then, shaking his head as if to clear it of some distraction, he put the hammer on the anvil again.

Arya backed slowly out of the forge. She heard the sound of metal on metal and knew Gendry felt the thing hadn't yet been made to his satisfaction. Perhaps the work would keep him up all night.

She hadn't known this side of him: this single-mindedness and ferocity. Something had changed. She wondered if he'd still be at the forge the next time she slipped back to the Inn. Or would he go off adventuring, pledging his fealty to this or that lord, seeking a title -- Ser Gendry of something or other. It sounded ridiculous to Arya, but strangely she could see him now in battle.

She had thought him the gentlest of companions, before.

The wind was biting cold. She wished for all the world she could have said something to him, anything. But her task was bitter, and best accomplished alone.

*     *     *

The next time Arya returned to Gendry's forge, she was good and tired. She'd just been to the Iron Islands. She wanted Theon, but he wasn't there -- "a prisoner of Ramsay Bolton's," someone told her.

She should have gone straight to Ramsay Bolton, but she didn't. Maybe it was the memory of Gendry and the Warhammer. She couldn't seem to get it out of her mind.

This time, the forge was quiet. Eerily so. The door was open. There was a faint light from within.

Arya crept quietly to the forge entrance. Before stepping in, she did a quick survey of the interior. The Warhammer was hanging on the far wall. The finished piece was magnificent, a finely honed specimen of Gendry's art. No, not just his art. A finely honed specimen of his art and his brute strength. She felt drawn to it. After another glance around to make sure she was alone, she took a step forward. And another. And another. Then froze.

Gendry was there, sitting on his bed at the back of the forge. It was where he normally slept, but this time, he wasn't asleep. He was sitting up, again in just his smallclothes. He had cleaned up, his muscled torso was free of the soot and ash that normally covered it. He was relaxed in his attitude, but Arya sensed he had been waiting.

His gaze pinned her in place.

"Arya," he said quietly.

 _All this time_ , Arya thought. _Who'd been watching who?_


	2. DESIRE

Arya couldn't answer, the fear and desire so strong within her.

Gendry rose from the bed, and she felt her eyes make that familiar journey across his chest. How many times had she seen him like this, late at night, in just his smallclothes? But now was different because there was no soot covering his skin. He was not working. He had finished the task. Then he had waited.

"How long?" she asked. She meant, _How long have you known?_

He came forward without answering and placed a strong hand on the back of her neck. Arya shuddered as Gendry's fingers sank into her tangled hair.

"I want to know," she whispered. "How long?"

"A while," he answered.

She shook her head. And here she thought no one could possibly be as good as her at dissembling.

His other hand came up and cupped her chin. His eyes wandered over her face, as if trying to memorize her features. Or more like confirming what he'd always known.

"You're beautiful," he said.

 _Liar_ , Arya thought. "Did you think that when the Red Woman took you?" she hissed.

He never stopped looking at her. He had anticipated that question, too. This Gendry was a surprise to her.

She should be angry with him, she knew.

"What did she do to you?" she asked.

"Why do you want to know?" he said, his eyes flitting to her lips.

Arya's breathing quickened. Her fists clenched. "Because I need to know," she said.

"I wondered why you hated her so much," he said.

"Because -- " she was about to say "Because she took you from me" but stopped herself.

"She bought me, remember?" Gendry said. "I had no choice."

"You had a choice. You could have run away," Arya said, her voice thick with anger. But she couldn't move away from him.

"Arya -- "

Oh, the sound of her name in his mouth!

"She did things to my mind," he said.

"Just to your mind?" Arya asked. Somehow, she didn't think so.

"She did things to my mind first," Gendry said.

"I'm sure she didn't have to work very hard," Arya said.

Because the Red Woman was beautiful. Arya remembered the way the Brotherhood snickered when saying her name, the way she read desire on those men's faces. It sickened her to think she had seen the same look in Gendry's eyes.

"I missed you," Gendry said. He pulled her into him. She rested her head on his chest. His heart was beating very fast.

Was this a trick? How could he have missed her? They'd both done so much, changed so much.

"I waited, here," he said. "That's what I was doing. Waiting."

In the end, he was just Gendry. Her Gendry. She raised her face and he kissed her. Gently at first. Then, his body became insistent.

Arya wondered if she was making a mistake. But -- to know him. Really know him. Wasn't that her desire?

She wondered what pain waited for her on the other side of this feeling.

It was pain that made her want to become Faceless. There was safety in being No One.

Skin, she thought, feeling his against hers.

Lips, she thought, feeling his tongue part her lips.

Weight, she thought, feeling his arms circle her.

She could still say no, but she didn't want to.


End file.
